


i hate myself and so will you

by cerebralyogurt



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: F/M, warning: author is physically unable to not make vetvimes references, warning: author thinks they're funny
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-06-20
Packaged: 2019-05-18 23:12:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14862105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cerebralyogurt/pseuds/cerebralyogurt
Summary: My friend and I talk an unreasonable and unhealthy amount about Moist’s and Adora Belle’s sex life. I'm going to write some of our headcanons out. They’re not going to be explicit, just shit.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know how commas work.

Lord Vetinari was seldom surprised by his city’s citizens’ actions, not really anyway. He certainly feigned surprise on a regular basis for encouraging effects. People worked far more effectively if they did so out of spite and in an attempt to one-up the Patrician. He simply didn’t have the heart* to inform them of their predictability and the fact that they were definitely and completely working for him in every aspect. Nevertheless, although he felt that Ankh-Morpork relied on being kindly bullied in the right direction by him, it was quite refreshing to hear whenever someone decided to swim against the tide***. It wasn’t controversial as such for Moist von Lipwig to open a furniture shop but it had certainly been… unexpected. The shop mostly sold beds and associated supplies which technically did not pose any threat to the city. However, it belonged to Moist von Lipwig, ex-con man in shiny golden suit and its slogan was “Beds von Lipwig – Sleep tight and dream Moist”. This could easily be classified as behavior likely to cause a breach of the peace in Vetinari’s humble opinion, which in fact was not humble at all because that concept doesn’t generally apply to tyrants and their opinions. Of course, because he was Vetinari and that’s just how things work in Ankh-Morpork, it had not taken very long for him to learn the reason why the city’s most successful and most dampened businessman had found his true calling in selling ergonomic mattresses. It had been hilarious.

~

“Mr. Lipwig, congratulations on your newest entrepreneurial investment.”  
Moist hoped that his inward flinch hadn’t been reflected on the outside. He had obviously known that he wouldn’t get around the topic, but still. You’ve got to have hope. So now he was hoping to get it over with quickly and that the Patrician wouldn’t ask too many questions. Of course, if Lord Vetinari didn’t ask a question this meant he already knew the answer. Incidentally this also applied to when he did ask a question.  
“Thank you, your Lordship.”  
Was there a chance he didn’t know?  
“Quite unusual, compared to your other businesses.”  
No there wasn’t. But possibly he wouldn’t mention it. Possibly he would leave Moist a shred of his dignity.  
“You know me. Can’t stay in one line of work forever. Needed a change.”  
Then again, the man had watched Moist dig through a cell wall with a spoon for weeks, knowing exactly what he would find on the other side…  
“So naturally, you went for ergonomic mattresses and down-filled pillows?”  
There were rare moments in life when Moist von Lipwig decided it was best to stay silent. This was one of them. An observer, if they had been one, would have felt privileged.  
“I do not need to point out to you of course,”, Vetinari continued, “that this new business venture of yours may have negative, if not ruinous effects on already existing businesses. 'Immanuel Kea’s Morporkian Matresses' for example used to enjoy great popularity amongst a large number of people. But now most of his costumers come to you instead.”  
Moist knew that Vetinari expected an answer this time but what was there to be said? He really had mentioned Mr. Kea. This was ultimate proof Vetinari was not only omniscient, he was also a mean bugger. So, what could Moist possibly say? The man had asked a question, hadn’t he?  
“No.”, said Moist.  
“No?” Vetinari raised an eyebrow at him.  
“No, you don’t need to point that out, your Lordship.”  
The eyebrow snickered at Moist and then proceeded to flip him off.  
“Oh well. You may leave then.”  
“What?”, Moist asked before his brain could kick in and kick him. Never look a gift flamingo in the beak. Or something.  
“Is there anything else you wish to tell me?”, Vetinari said, but Moist, having survived his absolutely not fair share of meetings with the Patrician believed himself perfectly capable of reading the man’s carefully planted implications in the simplest of sentences, and therefore knew that what he actually meant was: “I know you have bought a new bed from Mr. Kea almost every other month ever since you married Mrs. Dearheart. And I know exactly how you break it. And who is on top at that time. And if you let me detain you only a second longer you will be one of very few people on the disc to have seen me laugh. And do you really want to be at the receiving end of that, not that you’re new to being on the receiving end.”  
“No.”, he said again.  
“Then don’t let me detain you.”  
So Moist left and returned to his business, which honestly, was still worth this whole conversation. He actually preferred Vetinari and his eyebrow making fun of him via subtle implications to having to see that knowing smirk, that eyebrow wiggle, even that occasional wink of Mr. Kea just one more time. So yes, he had build an entire business in order to avoid an awkward store encounter. But it had been out of a true necessity. Tomorrow he would initiate a research group to develop a bed frame that could withstand one night of sex with Adora Belle Dearheart.

 

*Some say, he may not have a heart at all, but one should never listen to anything anyone says about the Patrician of Ankh-Morpork. After all, an entire song has been written about his apparent lack of balls even though heavy evidence points strongly against this.**  
** Said evidence has been collected by Commander Samuel Vimes himself so it must be valid.  
***In the river Ankh, this required a shovel.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has absolutely nothing to do with sex. I'm so sorry.

It was the most important event of the year. It had more cultural importance than Hogswatch and more political importance than that one time Commander Vimes accidentally said “bite me” to an Überwaldian diplomat. It produced more gossip than the Ankh-Morpork Inquirer could come up with in a week and consumed more food and drink than the entire Unseen University staff could devour in a day*. It was Moist von Lipwig’s birthday party, and he had invited just about everybody in Ankh-Morpork who had a name to them. Some had come just out of spite, some actually liked him, and most were just there for the free food.

It wasn’t really his birthday, after all, what reason had anyone to celebrate the emergence of something named Moist. Technically it was the anniversary of Albert Spangler’s death. But there was no need to rub anyone’s nose in that, especially since there were some very good noses in this city, specifically in the Watch, or so it was rumoured. Moist had in fact invited some big shots from the City Watch, who now stood around in a small cluster and somehow managed to dissolve and completely scatter across the large ball room whenever he ventured anywhere near them. Apparently, they still weren’t too fond of him. However, now Moist could see that a small, greenish creature had broken away from the Watch cluster and was, to his horror, moving towards him.

Upon closer inspection, it was only the dress which was green. Upon even closer inspection (an action which any hypothetical inspector would have immediately regretted), this colour also happened to match certain patches of the figure’s skin. The dress, with its ridiculously wide hoop skirt and altogether slightly grubby air, could not have been called beautiful in any light except perhaps the dark and dangerous twilight of the shades, in which the observer would not look twice at it anyway, for reason of being busy with trying to stay alive and so on. Nevertheless, Moist, and most certainly all his guests, found that it was a definite improvement to Nobby Nobbs' usual attire, as it graciously covered knees, ankles and arms. The man (reason and memory supplied this word to Moist, fighting against his protesting eyes) looked up at him with a grin and said: “That’s a nice dress you’re wearin’, Mr. Lipwig.”

Moist was momentarily taken aback. “Er. Thanks. The same to you, Mr. Nobbs”, he eventually got out. “Actually, you’re the first to comment on it.”

Moist’s dress was perfect. It had taken forever to get made and had cost him a fortune, but it had been absolutely worth it. Adora Belle had taken one look at the soft golden silk, the complicated black laces and the elegant black tulle skirt and then had flatly told him she didn’t want to be seen anywhere near him when he’s wearing _this_. Not because she was embarrassed, she had been nothing but supportive and even encouraging, but because her own best ball gown looked cheap and simple next to his. Of course, in Moist's opinion, any dress that had Adora Belle Dearheart in it instantaneously became the epitome of beauty, only surpassed by nothing with Adora Belle Dearheart in it. Nevertheless that had not stopped her from leaving him standing alone at his own party, while she was probably yelling at cooks and caterers behind the scenes.

“Right. It’s probably ‘cos they’re all scared to bring it up. No one said anything to me, either”, said Nobby. Moist briefly pondered whether this wasn’t perhaps due to the other guests, in a desperate grasp for comprehension, having classified Nobby as a goblin, and nobody understanding enough about goblin gender roles to know whether to object to him wearing a dress or not. Though a highly realistic scenario, it was more likely that, in Ankh-Morpork (the disc’s largest dwarf city despite definitely not being a dwarf city), a male in a dress was no more a surprise than a female behind a beard, or underneath some lichen, or in the general vicinity of Nobby Nobbs. People had long learned to deal with these kind of things, and they dealt with them by intensely ignoring them. Whatever the reason, it still quite bothered Moist, who had gotten used to a lot of attention.

“Look, I just wish _someone_ said _something_ , you know? It doesn’t have to be ‘wow, you look stunning, sir’ or anything. Just perhaps… ‘Hey, since when are you wearing dresses?’”, said Moist.  
Nobby nodded wisely. “So, since when're you wearin’ dresses, Mr Lipwig?”  
“Er… Since about three hours ago. I think? You?”  
“Couple of years now, me. You could say I’m experienced. Fully in touch with my… er _softer_ side’n stuff.” He paused to produce a cigarette stub, which Moist could’ve sworn hadn’t been there before, from behind his ear and seemingly magically managed to light it. “Happy birthday, by the way.”  
“What? Oh. Yes. Thank you."

He still wished Adora Belle was there. She could have bullied people behind his back into complimenting him. But she was nowhere to be seen.

“This is really fun, you know? I’m actually thinkin’ of throwin’ a birthday party myself**", Nobby remarked after Moist had been silent for an uncomfortable amount of time.  
Moist sighed. “Why?”, he asked. He didn’t know a lot about Nobby Nobbs, but he didn’t need to: The small man evoked an instinctive suspiciousness in anyone.  
“Er… ‘Cos it’s fun. Like I said”, Nobby replied, but he saw that this answer didn’t suffice for Moist. “Er, you know, all the gossip, an’ dancin’ an’ drinkin’ an’ stuff”, he explained.  
“And stuff”, Moist said flatly. “Stuff. Are you, by any chance, referring to the unattended purses and wallets of my guests?”  
Nobby didn’t do a particularly good job of looking innocent. That was a level two skill, a level one skill being, for example, looking human.  
“Did you take anything from my guests, Mr. Nobbs”, Moist said with a little more emphasis.  
“Me? _Nickin’_ people? _Never_ in my _entire_ life have I –“, he interrupted himself when he saw the look on Moist’s face. “Alright, but I’m not givin’ it back! ‘ere, look, I’ve got this pen for example, right? Belonged to Ms. Cripslock. She probably has hundreds of ‘em!”

Moist remembered his conversation with Ms. Cripslock earlier this evening. She had been so focused on not asking about the dress that she had enquired about his opinion of the weather at least three times, and then had asked him whether he had seen any funnily shaped vegetable recently.  
“Served her right, I suppose”, Moist eventually said. “What else you’ve got?”

After Nobby had listed at least a dozen items he had… obtained from various guests, including some weird rectangular object that had been dropped by one of the wizards (probably one of ‘em technomancy thingies, keeps on bleepin’ an’ beepin’, see) which they had agreed he'd better give back, Moist finally asked The Question.  
“Where are you even keeping all this stuff? You’re wearing a dress!”  
“Profess'nal’s secret”, Nobby said and winked, which really did not have very positive effects on Moist’s imagination.

Another look around the room told him that his wife was still gone. This was particularly disappointing as he had practiced dancing in heels for weeks, and now desperately yearned for the opportunity to show off his skills. 

An option shily tiptoed up to him and presented itself.

“Do you dance at all, Mr. Nobbs?”, he asked.  
Nobby nodded enthusiastically. “Sure do, Mr. Lipwig. No one can dance 'round the Maypole like good ol' Nobby, they say. I can also do a mean Morris dance. But dun't ask me 'bout the Stick and Bucket da-“  
“I was thinking maybe a Waltz?”, Moist interrupted.  
He offered Nobby his hand. There was a moment of hesitation and Nobby looking uncertain for a few seconds. But then he grinned mischievously and took Moist's hand.  
"Let's show 'em!"

*This was moistly due to the University staff being present.  
**If you can celebrate the death day of one of your own renounced con-identites, there's absolutely no argument against celebrating turning “probably 35, again”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say there doesn’t necessarily have to be a reason for anyone to wear a dress (or not) but also the Science of Discworld clearly states gender as a spectrum so after Jingo can we just all agree that genderfluid Nobby Nobbs is basically canon?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter where the “and so will you” part of the title becomes relevant.

It was… An Event. Lord Vetinari had attended many Events in his position as Very Important Person and was therefore not overly impressed by Lipwig’s “birthday” party. Moreover, not a lot of people seemed very inclined to talk to him, and he was getting rather bored with the people that did. So, in search of a conversation that was at least slightly more intellectual than the ones he used to have with Wuffles, he made his way over to a large, ajar double door which he assumed led to a balcony.

He had assumed right, and as he stepped outside he was immediately assaulted by a suffocating cloud of cigarette smoke which momentarily raised his hopes. But, although it was hard to make out in the darkness of the late evening, he quickly realized that the smoke’s originator was a little too tall, and a lot too female to be the man he had been looking for. The woman turned, which surprised Vetinari as he was sure he hadn’t made any sound whatsoever (she must have felt him entering her smoke realm which was physically inseparable from her) and gave him such a palpably _spiky_ glare, that even in complete absence of light and the tell-tale smoke, there would have been absolutely no doubt as to who was standing in front of him.

“Lord Vetinari”, she said slowly, emphasising every word, “how very convenient.”  
It had sounded almost snarky. While it was not untypical for Adora Belle Dearheart to be a lot franker with the Patrician than most people, he sensed that something was going on. But he chose to keep his expression unfazed, and attempt a bit of harmless small-talk, which was sure to lead to greater things eventually.

“Mrs. Dearheart, may I congratulate you and your husband on this splendid par-“

“It’s all your fault, you know?”, she interrupted him. In a few vigorous steps, heels clicking uncomfortably loudly on the stone balcony floor, she was suddenly right in front of him. She came to a halt slightly swaying, so that their noses, which were now only a few inches apart in any case, came dangerously close to touching a few times. It should have been impossible in all that smoke, but Vetinari’s delicate senses could pick up the faint scent of alcohol.

“I’m afraid I can’t quite follow”, he said cautiously.

“You know what I mean!”, she almost shouted, pointing an accusing finger at him.

“I really do not.” 

It was the truth, although it was equally true that he could be blamed for almost everything that was going on in this city, because after all, if he had wanted it to happen differently, it would have. So, in a way, he probably _did_ know…

“ _You_ had him _hanged_!”

Yes, that was definitely something that had happened, and that he had been responsible for. Nevertheless… 

“Indeed, I have, but as far as I remember he survived that. And he certainly seemed very alive when I saw him just now.”

Mrs. Dearheart shook her head and when she looked at him again she seemed almost mournful. Finally, she removed her hand from where it had been waving in front of Vetinari’s face and with both hands at her hips she sadly said: “I have _needs_ , you know. But _oh no_ , you just _had_ to let him dangle from the gallows, when there are so much better things to do with a good rope...”

Just as Vetinari had gotten a chance to enjoy the clear absence of her index finger basically up his nose, she moved closer to him again, specifically her mouth to his ear. It had probably been meant as a whisper, but that’s not how volume control works when you’re drunk.

“Sexshual things”, she slurred into his ear.

 _Ah_. Well he had been looking for an interesting conversation. He gently pushed her away so he could look at her sternly.

“Mrs. Dearheart, please. I do not want to be involved in your sex life.”

She smirked, which was never a good sign. 

“Oh, you’ve got no idea how much we involve you in our sex life, your Patrishnship.” 

Vetinari chose to ignore this. And he also chose to ignore reason, which told him that he should end this conversation right now. A stronger, more superior instinct urged him to Give Advice, and he gave into that instinct, even if it was mostly so he didn’t have to go back inside.

“Look, Mrs. Dearheart, I fully understand your position”, he began, earning himself a sceptical look, but she let him continue. “In my experience you cannot and you should not force anyone to do something they don’t want to do.”

He realized as he said it, that the wording could have been more precise.

“You mean like forcing Moist to become Postmaster?”, Mrs. Dearheart asked promptly.

“No I meant-“

“Or forcing Moist to become Master of the Royal Mint?”

“No.”

“Or forcing Moist…”

“I was speaking of sexual acts, especially those including… Ah, Means for the Restriction of the Movement*. It is possible that your husband is averse to those methods due to some… Unfavourable experiences, and if so, I must apologize. However, you need to consider that it is not that uncommon to just not be into these practices.”

Vetinari felt that this had been a reasonable argument, and that, even if his interlocuter was more than just a little tipsy, it was nice to have an adult conversation about a mature topic for once. That didn’t occur very often in his job. Mrs. Dearheart looked as if she was carefully considering his suggestion. Then she smiled at him.

“In your experience, hm? Sounds like Vetinari’s terrier doesn’t like to be held on a leash.”

Maybe she could use a couple more drinks after all. Preferably enough so that she would forget this entire conversation. Vetinari was careful to keep his face completely blank. This had been a mistake, a miscalculation, probably to blame on the one or two drinks he had had earlier.

“I will leave now”, he announced firmly, already at the door. The clatter of dishes and hubbub of a hundred different voices that hit him as he stepped back inside unfortunately was not enough to drown out her laughter, and as he was desperately searching the room for anything or anyone that he could direct all his attention to _right now_ , he faintly heard her mutter to herself:

“Vetinari’s terrier, more like Vetinari’s bitch, am I right.”

 

*This is _not_ an invention by Leonard of Quirm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friendly reminder that Pterry dedicated like a whole paragraph to Samuel Vimes’ unkinkyness so I’d like everyone to consider that in your PWP vetvimes fics not that I read those thanks.


End file.
